Chapter 3: What Rebecca Left Behind
Hannah did not sleep that night.
She sat at the small desk in her room on the third floor, the medication log open in front of her, the name written in the margin staring back at her in handwriting that was not Claire's careful cursive and not Walter's blunt print.
It was softer.
Rounder.
Written quickly, like someone making a note they expected to erase.
She photographed the page.
Then she photographed the three pages around it.
In the morning, she found Walter in the east corridor before breakfast.
"I need to ask you something," she said.
He didn't slow down.
"Walk with me."
She matched his pace.
"Who is Rebecca?"
Walter's stride didn't break.
But his right hand, which had been moving toward the door handle, stopped two inches short of it.
"Where did you hear that name?"
"Nicholas said it two nights ago when he woke confused.
And it's written in the medication log.
Four weeks back.
In handwriting that isn't yours or Claire's."
Walter turned to face her.
His expression was the same as it had been the day they met — measured, careful, giving nothing away.
"Rebecca Valenti," he said.
"Nicholas's younger sister."
Hannah waited.
"She d*ed fourteen months ago.
Car accident, north of the city.
She was twenty-six."
"Was she involved in his care?"
"She was involved in everything." Walter's jaw tightened slightly.
"She was the one who hired the first nurse after the accident.
She managed his schedule, his medications, his appointments.
She was the reason this household functioned."
"And then she d*ed."
"And then she d*ed." He looked at Hannah directly.
"And Claire Whitmore arrived six weeks later."
Hannah felt something settle into place.
Not an answer.
The shape of a question she hadn't known to ask.
"Walter.
The nurses who left before me — did any of them say why?"
He was quiet for a moment too long.
"The first one said the environment was hostile.
The second cited personal reasons.
The third left a note that said only: *I cannot be responsible for what is happening here.*"
"And nobody investigated that?"
"I investigated it." His voice dropped.
"I found nothing I could prove.
Which is different from finding nothing."
He pushed open the door and the morning light came through.
"Be careful what you look for, Miss Reed," he said.
"And be more careful what you find."
He walked out.
Hannah stood in the corridor alone.
She thought about the third nurse's note.
*I cannot be responsible for what is happening here.* She thought about the changed dosage with no physician's authorization.
She thought about the two tablets she had already sealed in a plastic evidence bag and hidden inside a box of medical gauze at the back of her supply cabinet.
Then she went to find Nicholas.
He was in the library.
The lake was grey that morning, the water flat and colorless under low clouds.
"I need to talk to you about your medication," she said.
"Good morning to you too."
She set the log on the table beside him, open to the marked page.
"This name.
Rebecca.
Was she managing your medications before she d*ed?"
Nicholas looked at the page.
Something moved across his face — grief, or the controlled version of it that people practiced until it looked like nothing.
"Yes."
"And after she d*ed, who took over?"
"Claire offered to.
I let her." He paused.
"I wasn't in a position to argue with anyone about anything at that point."
"Nicholas.
Your evening dosage was changed three weeks ago.
There is no doctor's note.
No pharmacy record.
No authorization from your physician."
He was quiet.
"I need you to tell me if you've been feeling worse at night specifically.
Confusion.
Trembling.
Difficulty remembering."
He turned to look at her then.
Really look at her.
"Yes," he said.
"For about three weeks."
Hannah closed the log.
"I'm calling your physician today.
I'm also sending the tablets I collected to an independent lab."
"You already collected tablets."
"Last week."
He studied her face.
"You knew before this morning."
"I suspected.
Now I'm more certain."
Nicholas looked back at the lake.
His hands were very still on the arms of his wheelchair.
"Hannah."
"Yes."
"Rebecca didn't d*e in a car accident."
The room went quiet in a way that had nothing to do with sound.
"The police ruled it an accident," he said.
"I never believed them.
I couldn't prove anything.
And then six weeks later Claire appeared and I was—" He stopped.
"I was not thinking clearly.
I understand now that I was already not thinking clearly."
Hannah didn't move.
"She's been p0isoning you," Hannah said.
"Slowly.
Long enough that the confusion would look like grief, or medication side effects, or the psychological aftermath of the accident."
Nicholas didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Outside, a car door closed in the driveway.
Heels crossed the stone.
Claire was back from wherever she had been.
Hannah picked up the medication log and walked to the door.
"Don't tell her we spoke," she said.
Nicholas's voice came from behind her, quiet and very even.
"Miss Reed.
My sister trusted people carefully and slowly.
She trusted almost no one."
Hannah paused in the doorway.
"She would have trusted you," he said.
Hannah walked out before Claire reached the front entrance.
She had three things to do before noon: call Dr.
Harmon, arrange the lab courier, and find out exactly what Rebecca Valenti had known in the weeks before she d*ed.
She was halfway up the stairs when her phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
Chicago area code.
She answered.
Silence.
Then a woman's voice, low and careful.
"You're the new nurse.
Hannah Reed."
"Who is this?"
"Someone who tried to help Rebecca." A pause.
"Someone who didn't try hard enough.
You need to stop whatever you're doing inside that house and meet me first.
Before you do anything else."
"Why?"
"Because the lab results you're waiting for won't be enough.
Claire has already prepared for that."
Hannah's hand tightened on the phone.
May you like
"How do you know about the lab?"
The line went de@d.
